When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie . . .When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie. P-D 7/6/2000

Headline: WHEN THE MOON HITS YOUR EYE LIKE A BIG PIZZA PIE . . .
Reporter: By Greg Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Thu., Jul. 6, 2000
Section: METRO, Page: B1, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

Happy anniversary

I always say that it was her frozen pizza that did it.
That's the first meal my wife ever served me. Back when we were fellow students at Washington University, Elizabeth and I were on the staff of Student Life, the school newspaper. As I suspect even today's editors of that paper experience, the newspaper was life-consuming. Those of us who worked for it ate, drank and slept the newspaper.
Deans warned students who became editor of Student Life that their grades would surely suffer as they would end up spending more time at the newspaper than they would in their own homes or apartments. They were right, of course. While other students went to student lounges or dorm rooms between classes, those of us working for the paper were in the newspaper's offices.

It was on one of those days when we were working over a hot light table that the woman who would someday be my wife invited me to her home for lunch. There we dined on a sumptuous frozen pizza that she popped into the oven. I often kid her and say it was that meal -- that culinary delight -- that let me know that she was the one.
   That's not really true. We were just friends for quite a while before we started "dating." Both of us were movie buffs, so we'd often take in a movie on the weekend. On occasion, when we had a little money, we'd go out to dinner -- Dutch treat, of course, considering the forced vow of poverty that we had taken as college students.
   We'd known each other for about a year before our friendship became romantic.
   I was charmed by her soul. I had never met anyone so caring about other people. (She bestowed that caring quality to our son. When he was younger, the two of them once found a pigeon on the street that had been hurt. Worried about the bird, they stopped the car, put the pigeon in a box and took it to a bird sanctuary. They even gave the bird sanctuary a contribution for helping the bird.)

I'm still not sure what she saw in me, then a college student who lived in bell-bottom blue jeans and a tattered green T-shirt that read "Washington University: Harvard of the Midwest."
Clearly, she wasn't after money. Washington University was filled with guys who were going on to be doctors and lawyers. Instead, she chose a Spanish major who was becoming a journalist. My salary from my first job as a reporter put me under the poverty line. But she stuck with me anyway.

We've been there for each other for the good times and the bad times. We've witnessed triumphs and experienced tragedies. Like any couple, I suppose, we've had our ups and downs over the years, and I would be lying if I didn't concede that there were times that I thought our marriage might come to an end. But there have been so many more ups than downs, and I probably love my wife today more than I did when we first got married. If love means being unable to imagine what you would do if something ever happened to your partner, then I'm in love, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

My wife and I gave the love that we share to our son. Now, as he appro aches adulthood, we hope the love we gave him pays off and that he will be a more giving person because of it. Someday, if he's as fortunate as I, he'll find a woman as terrific as the one I married.

Tomorrow, my wife and I will celebrate our 21st anniversary (our marriage will be old enough to go out and buy itself a beer, Elizabeth jokes). We plan to recognize that milestone with a meal. But this time it won't be frozen pizza. We're going out to dinner to celebrate.
And this time, it won't be Dutch treat.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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